The Raspberry's Thorns
by AlmondBoron
Summary: This is a Beauty and the Beast gender-swap where "Beauty" is played by a young man named Claude Hemmingway and the "Beast" is a lady named Arrhenius. There are some liberties taken on this retelling, and doesn't exactly follow the movie, and thus gives more room for my imagination to fill in what I think necessary. The story itself is in the late 1800-ish time (maybe; it's vague).
1. Chapter 1

{I}

A village ruled by myth, legend, and the Ponquet family name had received new inhabitants. A young man and his unstable mother had moved in months ago so that he could look after her better. Claude, as this was his name, lived in the town of Terminn, which bordered the Opclime woods. This forest, although generally benign, was said to hold a merciless beast who preyed on the innocent and fair, everything she was said not to be. Legends of her vain habits spread, and these horrific rumors were enough to keep everyone out and away. However, he and his mother, Madam Hemmingway, were ignorant to these tales, but soon would become well acquainted.

During their time in Terminn, the Hemmingways had been, overall, treated fairly, as Claude's presence made up for his mother's bouts of eccentric behavior, such as baking whole feasts only to lay them out in the yard for nature to claim, or hanging wet laundry out in the winter time. The villagers tended to forgive her mainly because of Claude's easygoing personality and kindness, and for awhile they turned the other way.

He particularly made an impression on Grimella Ponquet, daughter of the wealthy Marcus Ponquet. After one outing into town to return a few readings he had borrowed, Claude came across Grimella just as she had lost a beaded shawl. He quickly retrieved it from a branch of an Opclime tree as she babbled how grateful she was, saying if he hadn't rescued it for her then the vain beast of the woods would have taken it to add to her collection of luxurious jewelry that she gained from "killing nobility such as myself." Once her shawl had been returned, Claude left, not thinking much of the matter, but Grimella believed he was the one perfect for her.

Soon after the suitors of the town approached her, as normal, all wishing to be the next Mr. Ponquet (for even though they were the ones marrying in, the Ponquet name held so much power in the surrounding regions it was typically kept throughout the lineage).

"I will always be faithful to you, Grimella, and make sure you never grow hungry! With me you will always feast like a queen," one shouted near the bakery.

"Only I will be able to protect you from the dangers of the nearby Opclime Forest!" cried the huntsman.

"Neither of these fools will get you everything you want; I will shower you with the finest of fashions - anything you want I can make," said the tailor, balancing bolts of fabric in his arms.

Grimella, though she usually enjoyed the men's pleas for her love, was now deaf to them. "None of you shall win my heart, for it has already been conquered by another," she airily said, gazing at Claude's form as he walked down the path to his residence.

"Oh, how your cruel jests freeze my soul, Grimella. Who could lock away your most fair beauty so secretly?" the carpenter's son lamented.

"Yes, who is it that you seem to have devoted yourself to?"

The crowd of men began listing off the names, hoping to guess Grimella's prime suitor. She walked away, smiling quietly as they followed her, continuing to try to woo her. But now things were different, for she had been captivated by the bookish Claude's handsome looks. She was enamored with his light brown hair, the color of unsettled dust, and the shape of his face, delicate, but with hints of hidden strength. Having decided only he matched her in looks, Grimella began counting the days until the Hemmingway was hers.

Night was just beginning to fall as Claude reached his home, and he searched around for his mother until he heard the front door unlatch. With a light sigh of relief, he went to greet her, glad she had found her way back home before it had grown too dark.

"Mama, you shouldn't be wandering out this late; it's not safe." He took a basket full of fresh grapes from her and placed them on the kitchen counter. His mother was always gathering fruits to turn into jams, as this was how the Hemmingways supported themselves. In addition, it was a rather nice pastime for his mother, for she loved the creativity she could supply into their making, and he loved that it kept her out of trouble when he was away.

"Oh, Claude; don't worry. There's no she-beast out there that will hurt me," she said dismissively, turning away from him to walk towards the grapes in the kitchen.

"It's not the beast I worry about," he muttered. The attention he had gained from Grimella would soon bring hostile feelings from the other suitors all vying for her, and he wouldn't put it past them to drag his mother into this affair.

About a week later, Claude was approached by Marcus Ponquet in the town square. Unsure of the reason behind this meeting, he nervously placed the novel he was reading down beside him on the lip of the center fountain.

"Yes, Mr. Ponquet?" he asked, folding his hands together in an attempt to keep them still.

"Ah, my dear friend, Mr. Hemmingway," he said, and with each address forcefully patted Claude on the back, almost so that he nearly fell into the water. "I have come to discuss an…arrangement with you that you are sure to find highly pleasing." He sat down beside Claude and laid his gold-tipped walking stick across his lap. "You see, I believe that you would be the wisest choice to continue the Ponquet line. My daughter has spoken to me quite favorably about you. At first, I was dubious of her judgment, but when I came today to talk about it, I saw my Grimella had been right about you. For you so obviously possess the most defining Ponquet attribute-your looks."

Passing by, two of the townspeople were mumbling amongst themselves, and Claude heard them talking, having just seen Marcus, about how odd it was that "this boy not be interested in the most gorgeous Grimella."

At this moment, Claude was trying to think of a polite way to tell Mr. Ponquet that he wasn't interested in his daughter. "Well, sir, there are much better men than myself she could choose. I am flattered, but I couldn't possibly agree to enter your family line, for I have my mother to look after."

Suspecting something along these lines, Grimella had instructed her father in what to say next. "Yes, and it is this devotion that makes you even more desirable to her, besides your striking features, that is. When you marry my daughter," he said, hinting it was unavoidable, "we will have someone who would be able to constantly monitor her while you would be out." Marcus believed this would sate him.

However, Claude was determined to remain the primary caretaker of his mother, and wasn't too pleased with her being somewhat thrown to the side. "I must again express, though I am grateful for this attention and thankful for your acceptance of my mother and I into your town, I really must turn you and your daughter down." He made a movement to get up from his seat, but was barred by a walking stick.

"Really, Mr. Hemmingway, I beg you to reconsider. Before you go, I wish to make my intentions clear. My dear daughter Grimella has set her sights on you, and it would be a disappointment that she not be wed to the town's most eye-catching young man in town." With that final note, Mr. Ponquet allowed him to leave. Claude gathered his book and found a new place to settle and read.

Once the shops had began to close, Claude decided he might as well go home. He walked past the bookstore and the bakery down the cobbled path to his home. He imagined as he was going the types of jams his mother was making. Earlier he had bought some bread for a lunch, had put the extra in the cupboard, and was eager to try the jams with it. Claude opened the door and called out for his mother. With no response, he looked around again, searching each room in case she had decided to hide, as she occasionally had done before. Now it was dark, and he noticed her basket was missing. Panicking, he knew she was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

{II}

Unable to search during the night, Claude had a fitful sleep, constantly worrying about his mother. Morning broke, and he went into the town in an attempt to gather support to find her. However, bitterness and jealously had now taken over the villagers' hearts, for he was the one who had taken Grimella from them. The huntsman refused to act as a guide, bragging that Claude obviously had a deep understanding of the Opclime forest. The baker refused to sell him provisions, spitefully alluding to how his jam should sustain him. Resolving he would find no help from the average villagers, he hesitantly walked towards the Ponquet abode.

He hit the knocker and waited for a response, fidgeting as he did so. Soon Grimella opened the door.

"Oh, why Claude! I'm ever so glad you have come to requite my love," she said, not believing he could have come for any other purpose. She draped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

Slightly uncomfortable, Claude took a small step back, and began to state his true purpose. "Actually, I've come here to request help my mother – she's gone missing, and no one will accompany me on a search through the Opclime woods. I was hoping your father could assist me, or even persuade some of the villagers to help."

Arms dropping to her side Grimella stepped back and quietly went to her father. Returning to the front door, Marcus towered over him, and Claude wondered if he had made the right choice coming to the Ponquets.

"What seems to be your problem, my son?" he asked. The young man repeated his dilemma, and behind her father, Grimella changed her tactics in another attempt to woo him, shocked that her beauty was not enough to make him to pledge his unwavering devotion to her.

"Claude, you're so brave and noble to be rescuing your mother from the forest," batting her eyelashes at him as they continued to talk. When he didn't immediately respond to tell her how her sweet words had touched him, Grimella was almost dismayed. However, no one was as handsome as she was beautiful except for this Hemmingway, and she knew only she deserved this jewel that had wandered into town.

Eventually all Mr. Ponquet was able to do was lend Claude one of his horses, as he had "other matters to attend to at the moment."

Claude waved a short goodbye, not wanting to be ill natured, but Grimella added the moment to a list in her head of stories she would tell their children of how they had come to know one another.

Struggling to lead the horse from the Ponquet stables, Claude mounted it and went to check his home one more time, just in case his mother had returned by some miracle. He was still the only one there. Gathering some bread and a book into a satchel, Claude urged the horse on into the Opclime woods.

Quietly trotting along, he looked for hints that might lead him to his mother, such as footprints in the soil or any signs of oddness. The trees stretched upwards and began to close in on one another, darkening the sky. There were no other animals about; the branches of the forest were the only things that moved in the gusts of frigid wind. He wished he had brought his cloak.

Alone with the horse, he could only blame himself for losing his mother. He scolded himself for not returning home earlier and being out and away so late. After his father had left a few years ago, Claude took it upon himself to look after his mama, in order to keep what was left of his family together. Soon he stopped going to his school miles away to be close, and when his mother confronted him about this, saying she could take care of herself and he needed to continue his education, he said he could learn all he ever needed to know from books.

Light was fading, and Claude had almost turned back until he caught sight of a swatch of blue poking from under a bush. Examining it closer, he determined it to be his mother's shoe, and knowing he was on the right path he feverously kept to his search. In spite of his determination, his horse began to feel the effects of being out for so long, as it was accustomed to living a life of ease with the Ponquets, and certainly had not been trained to handle the pressures of the Opclime.

Sensing his horse was slowing, Claude tried to urge it on, saying things such as "We're almost there, just keep walking," and even bribing it with "When we return to your master, I'll give you quite a treat. See, my mama makes an apple jam I'm sure you would love, but I can't give you that if we don't find her first…"

Suddenly a black bird flew just under the canopy of the giant trees, cawing menacingly as it glided by, swooping down towards Claude and the horse. Unprepared, the horse bucked up onto its hind legs, whinnying as Claude fell on top of his satchel behind. Madly glancing around, the horse decided to bolt from its position and return to Terminn.

"NO! Wait! I need you!" he shouted in an effort to bring the horse back, but it had already begun galloping away, and had become out of reach. Now Claude was truly alone, stranded in the woods said to contain a devilish she-beast. He tried his best to control his wild imagination, but couldn't help but wonder what actions this vain monster would take should it happen that she stumble upon someone's half-mad mama.

Unable to take a path back into town before nightfall, Claude's best option was to persevere through the forest. An hour of wandering later, he began to see strange bushes growing on the forest floor. Following their path (for they grew on either side of him creating a grassy pathway in the middle), Claude began to scale the hill in front of him until he reached the peak, which was entirely covered in the thorny plant. Looking side to side, he saw that the hill was quite wide, and the gnarled bushes extended in a ring around it, for in the center was a depression of the land, with no clear path to the bottom. In the center of the small valley was a slightly decaying mansion, with two main wings and a central building connecting them. Amazingly, the immediate surroundings appeared to be well-taken of, as fruit trees different from the common stock of the Opclime forest grew in health. Hopeful, Claude wondered if the resident of the mansion would know of his mother.

Unable to find a direct path to the mansion below, he shuffled carefully about the briars, avoiding their thorns. Even still, all his caution was useless when he entangled his leg in the grasp of a particularly unruly branch. Claude attempted to wretch himself free, but only succeeded in covering his hands with sticky blood. Bringing them to his mouth, though he didn't feel much pain, he wanted to try and staunch it anyways, having read about diseases that could take root in exposed skin.

However, he coughed unexpectedly, for it wasn't the coppery twang of blood that greeted him, but a light, sweet sensation. He pulled his hands away and observed their color; indeed, it wasn't blood staining his hands but juice from the plants' fruits! Looking closer he discovered that the hill was surrounded by raspberry bushes, and it had been their thorns which pestered him.

The briars seemed to have weaved themselves into an obscuring blanket as they grew from seedlings, becoming a sharpened mat over the years for all visitors. No exception to this was Claude, who, managing to get his leg free, became off balanced and discovered the quickest (though least comfortable) way to reach the crumbling building was to slide down the hill covered in thorns.

"Ack!" he shouted, shielding his face with his arms so that it might not be scratched as he plummeted down. By now, the loaf Claude had brought to last him the trip had been reduced to just bread particles and was only good for littering the ground he had slid past, crumb-by-crumb falling out of the satchel.

Slowly at the head of the manor he skidded to a stop and took a minute to recollect himself before looking up at the building. Dusk had settled, and the lighting only added to its imposing appearance. Long and sturdy Corinthian columns spread upward to meet the overhanging roof, and the stone had been carved to mimic the raspberry shrubs at both the top and bottom fittings. There was an old, regal characteristic to the building, which was supplemented by the vast shadow it cast on him from the sun setting. The walls possessed chiseled architectural lines, creating a dynamic feel against the white-grey marble. The windows seemed to radiate the slightest rosy-colored glow from the glass, even though there appeared to be no light shining from the inside.

Picking off the most noticeable bramble that had attached itself to him on his descent, Claude solemnly walked to the two narrow front doors. When he was about to knock, he found that they were unlocked. Carefully, Claude pried the left one open wide enough for him to squeeze through and entered.

The inner appearance, though still spellbinding, was not as dramatic as the exterior: dust settled in all the crevices in the main atrium, seemingly not having been used for some time. Heavy tapestries had faded from once stunning hues to a more common, lackluster palate against the towering walls. Small clouds arose wherever he stepped, walking deeper into this so isolated house.

Now coming across a light green parlor room, Claude caught sight of a jade and gold patterned armchair, narrow in the middle but wide at the base and head. It shuddered. He turned, and hesitantly approached it, not sure what he would find. Slowly, two middle-aged hands gripped over the edge of the top, followed by a heart-shaped head with laugh lines and loose brown hair.

"Mama!" Sure enough, a wicker basket brimming with fresh maroon raspberries lay in front of the velvet seat.

"My Claude, how good it is to see you," she said warmly, embracing him as she did so. "But you mustn't be here – no, no, you must go now. Hurry!" She grasped his shoulders and turned them in an attempt to force him out, but was still gripping him when a dark voice spoke behind them.

"So it appears we have _another_ trespasser in my home, come to see if the legends are true."


	3. Chapter 3

{III}

The Hemmingways were motionless, petrified just by the sound of the ragged, dark voice. Neither were able to identify the speaker, but both were fearful. Finally, Claude spoke up.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

A soft cackle was heard from the far corner of the, kept in darkness by the heavy draped curtains. "Haven't you guessed by now?" it said, slightly spiteful in its tone. Its silhouette paced back and forth silently against the gold green wallpaper. "I'm from your nightmares – _everyone's_ nightmares; I'm 'the beast.'"

His mother had curled into a tight ball in the middle of the chair, and Claude held her from shaking too hard. He tried to help her up but she just uncontrollably shook her head in protest, beginning to cry on him, muttering, "No, I can't, no, she won't let me leave ever!"

He raised his eyes to the shadow. "Why do you insist on keeping my mother prisoner here, in this dank and gloom-ridden castle? She is of no use to you!"

Sharply an arm pointed at them. "She is the one who stole from _me_! She brought her misfortune upon herself from taking what wasn't hers!" An unseen force whooshed past their faces and knocked the basket over, strewing plump raspberries all across the rug.

"Really? You're being so bitter over a few berries? That's absurd!"

He regretted being so petty as the monster verbally lashed out again. _"You have someone take you most precious possession, then come and judge me for my actions!"_

_Are a bunch of thorny, knotted raspberry plants really this beast's "most precious possession?" _Claude asked himself, looking around at the elegant framed paintings above mantles and black velvet neck figurines displaying various jewelry on them. 

"Who are you?" he goaded again, frustrated with this creature having caused such distress to his mother. "Walk in into the light so I can see you!"

Again there was a laugh. "Do you really wish to see me? You wish to? Ah ah, have you come to court me, fair young sir?" she said mockingly in her dark and powerful voice.

A silence fell upon the room as each side considered their course of action. The beast was blinded by anger and could thus only think in terms of shortsighted rage at the moment while Claude was doing all he could to get his mother to safety, even if it meant he might not get to join her in it.

The monster was about to demand for him to leave again when Claude spoke up. "Please, let my mama go – if you must take a prisoner, let it be me."

"NO! Claude! I won't let you sacrifice yourself for me! You still have a life and future ahead of you, and you'll be throwing it to the wolves by rotting here! I have less to lose if I stay, not as much as you, no, not nearly as much as you." She fearfully held onto him, believing if she never let go she would never lose her son.

"You would take your mother's place? Here in this secluded mansion? With me as your only company?" Her voice was quieter now, still deep, but not as threatening.

He gulped. "Yes, so long as you release my mother, I will stay here for life." In his mind, he saw imagined fragments of his future fleeting away as he made his final statement, yet brushed the numbing feeling aside as he kept his hands limply by his side.

A pause as the beast considered this new option occurred, and once more the unseen shadow began pacing, footfalls echoing in the chamber. "Fine. The woman may go. You are to remain here until the end of your days."

Quickly in a heavy maroon cloak, she glided past Claude so that he couldn't see her as she went towards his mother, who she helped out of the chair and guided to the door. She gently took an arm out and firmly placed it on Madam Hemmingway's shoulder as to stop her from nearly falling to the floor from exhaustion. He gasped silently, taking in a quick, unexpected breath. As she did so he could see that her arm was puckered and shiny from what seemed like flesh colored scales in some areas and pregnant with red bulbous sores in the others. The cape and a velvet glove obscured the rest of her, but he could see that her hair was a nest of unkept knots and undesirable tangles, and wouldn't have been surprised if something else had been living in it as well.

The loud solid doors boomed as they meet one another from the beast's force as she led his mother away outside. Faintly he could hear a horse whinnying and beginning to gallop off away from the hill of cursed raspberries.

"Goodbye, my sweet mama," Claude uttered to himself, exhaling unevenly as he did so, holding back his tears for now.

Once she had seen the horse take off, the beast slowly reentered her mansion. Shrouded by the entirety of the cloak, her face remained invisible as she approached Claude. He tried not to flinch the closer she got, breathing shallowly.

The beast grasped his wrist and tugged. Her grip was stronger than that of anyone else he had known. It was too strong to break from.

"Come now. You don't wish to remain in this room for eternity, do you? No; I have a guest suite you may use." She forcefully dragged Claude up the right spiral staircase. The gold filigree of the banisters had begun to flake off and gather at the bottom of the marble steps. Brown dust had taken its place.

Throughout the mansion, he noticed, were the creepy neck figurines, each sporting a different piece and style of jewelry. Some were jewel encrusted, and others were more simplistic. However, he shivered because he recalled Grimella's warning how the monster in the woods killed noblewomen for their precious jewels. _Each necklace from a different member of class, _he speculated_, would mean at least dozens killed._ He quickly glanced around, oddly believing the dead bodies would be strewn out in front of him to readily find. A sharp tug jerked Claude from his thoughts; his feet had been leading him towards the West Wing, and the beast had redirected him. _That's where the bodies are, _he decided. _That must be why she doesn't want me going over that way._

Pulling him brought his attention to her hand encircling his wrist. Both ugly scars and veins which were too close to the surface to appear normal occupied her bony hand. It brought a cold feeling all throughout his arm, and the rough and scratched fingernails she had were beginning to cut into his flesh; it was all he could do to keep himself just from ripping himself free, but he feared what this beast would do to him then.

At the end of a violet and silver hallway, the beast unexpectedly pushed him into an open room. Clumsily placing his satchel aside, he regained his balance and observed his new living quarters for life. There was a neatly made bed in one corner, a desk and stool across from it, and on the other side was a plush chair with a small beaded footstool. Next to the lounge chair was a tall wooden shelf that boasted a grand total of five books. _Well at least I won't die immediately of boredom_, Claude thought, skeptically eyeing the practically bare shelf. The room itself was of medium size with another door in the back and a wardrobe right by it. The poor lighting only made the space look smaller.

From her standing spot against the doorway, the beast entered one step. Coughing before speaking, she said, "This will be where you live." After walking in a tad farther, she then quickly gestured towards the other door in the room. "This is your bathroom. It should have everything you need."

Again he was grossly drawn to look at her fingers, rather than to what they were actually pointing at. Their severity fascinated his imagination, and yet at the same time it repulsed him from this monster.

"You are allowed to roam this area of my home. I will not bother you here provided you do not enter the West Wing of this mansion. This is my primary rule."

"Why not the West Wing?"

"Because I said so! _It is forbidden!_"

He drew back, alarmed at how easily she could be provoked. She too noticed how she had been set off by his questioning and turned to go. Before completely exiting though, she paused and faced him beneath her hood. "Dinner will be served promptly in two hours. Make yourself at home until then."

The door slammed behind her, and Claude wasn't certain whether it was accidental or not. Looking around once more at his surroundings, he sunk into the couch and held the pillow that had been previously resting in its seat. Too distressed by his absence from his mother, he resolved not to go join the beast in dinner, not this night. He squeezed the tea pillow tight and pushed it closer to him, wishing he could be at his home in Terminn, preparing to tuck in his mother and head to sleep himself.

_Oh, how will she take care of herself for so long!_ His mother could handle herself for the most part, but there were days when she required Claude desperately to keep her tethered and functioning. _I made the wrong choice in staying…._he resolved tearfully, slowly drifting to sleep in the armchair without thought as he did so.


	4. Chapter 4

{IV}

The beast retired to her quarters in the West Wing until dinner. As she entered her room she gently took off her cloak and hung it from a nearby hook on the wall. Her brown fitted jacket also was taken off and placed a bit farther away against the back of her extended sofa. Black buckled boots were unceremoniously tossed from her feet to the corners of the room until all she was left with were her olive green trousers and long-sleeved crème button down. She looked down at her scarred and crackled feet against the luscious tan carpet spanning the large room. _The bruise markings really bring out the shine in this carpet_, she sarcastically thought to herself. The bruises themselves had been there for years, never healing, just existing along with everything else she had been cursed with.

The wide space at one time used to be her parent's room, but she hadn't seen them in seven years, the length of time she had been in her current state, and since had assumed ownership of the entire estate, shrouded by the forest.

Exhausted, she went to her red and gold hued bed and sat down on the end of it, regretting her decision to hold this Claude captive. _What have I done in agreeing to keep an adolescent man in my home? Oh, the scandal I'm sure would ensue if I lived in a public place. _She laughed to herself ruefully as she imagined it. Seldom did she think of the world outside her small realm, and usually it was with scorn. Every now and then, though, she did contact a friend of sorts when she wished for advice or company, and it was this she was planning to do now, as she was unsure of what to do with the young man now that she had taken him prisoner.

Hidden under her blouse and shirt she pulled an elegant tea-packet-sized pendant, fully covered in iridescent beads ranging the color spectrum that swirled and twisted amongst each other, and held it dangling from her revolting fingers. This locket was able to be spilt into two halves, and housed the lady's only foothold to the outside. Inside, lined with the most tiny braid of gold pearls laid a small, fragile mirror which possessed the unique ability to show her wherever she wished to view.

Holding it in both hands, she chanted, "Mirror, show me the Enchantress." At the last syllable the silver glass grew black, then fog spun from the center outwards until there was a clear view of a pastel room and a fair figure with blonde hair and a silver tiara.

At this point it might be necessary to explain how the beast and the Enchantress had grown close, and to do this one must first step back to look at the whole story. The beast at the time was young, about twelve, when she last saw her parents. They were hosting a gala where many nobility were in attendance. Due to the formality of the event, she had been told to remain out of sight in her room while the party went on, even though the rain that had begun pouring.

Through her window she could see the fancy couples walk in from their carriages, each escorted by a servant with an umbrella. She waited and waited in her room, pacing, resting, hiding in her wardrobe and trying to climb onto her wooden bookshelf until she had exhausted all forms of entertainment. Against her parents' wishes, she decided to go out from her room as she grew hungry. Carefully opening her door so that it might not be heard, the girl slipped out and took the servant's backway towards the kitchen, which connected to a second entrance to the courtyard where produce and other supplies could easily be received.

With the cook having gone home and the other servants out waiting on the guests, no one was there to monitor her going in for a snack. On the counters were extra hors d'oeuvres that had been brought back once the main course had started, and she made a small plate of these and sat against the oven to eat the cheese and dill spread with the broken cracker bits deemed unworthy by the elite crowd in the other room.

A powerful knock on the spare doors resonated through the kitchen midway through her makeshift meal, causing the girl to drop her plate, sending crumbs and glass out all around her. Again the person outside knocked, this time louder than the thunder crashing. Slowly standing, she made her way to the latch, cutting her bare feet against the plate shards on the marbled tile. She opened it, letting in a burst of wet, frigid wind that shook the cutlery on display. Beyond the doorframe stood an old woman, hunched under the weight of the rain.

"Please," she croaked, "let me in for the night. It is cold and wet, and I have nowhere else to go in these deep woods." The young girl was surprised to see that the strong knocking had come from someone so frail.

She knew that if she let the old woman in, her parents would find out she had left her room, and she would hence be punished. Already she had made them cross, and wasn't eager for it to happen again.

"I'm sorry," she said, trying to be polite. "There are no spaces you can stay; they are all taken up by the crowd out there," pointing towards the dining hall as she said so. She very well knew that the noble guests would all leave before midnight, and none would ever dare stay the night, but she tried to make a believable lie, as not to offend the old woman too much.

Outside, the woman shifted her weight and presented a small potted plant, vibrant with color and richness. "No; I can pay. I'm not begging for a place to live, just a place to rest through this storm." Inside her hands was a delicate raspberry bush, fruits and thorns glistening and leaves trembling in the rain.

The plant was entrancing, and she almost let the old woman in, but restrained herself. "No, I'm afraid you must go. Seek shelter somewhere else." Firmly denying her, she went to go and close the door but was stopped when she saw a glowing cloud envelop the old woman, and when it cleared a tall Enchantress more beautiful than anyone present for the gala now stood in front of the girl, the rain deflecting off her by her magic so she stayed dry.

"You have been selfish and unconcerned for others," she stated with a honey-like voice, laced with steel. "You are only concerned for your own wellbeing and not that of others, and for this reason I will make it that you don't have to see another person again!"

Pulling a wand from the folds of her glimmering gauze dress, the Enchantress cast a spell, sending it forth onto the girl in the form of a sickly green smoke.

"You, Arrhenius, will be trapped like this until you can show that you can care others, and they care back for you. You will have eight years to complete this task, otherwise it cannot be reversed."

By this time, all the noise had drawn near the guests. The hosts first entered the kitchen, and the mother shrieked when she saw her daughter's face had scarred, pitted, calloused, and paled before her own eyes.

"She is hideous now!" the couples murmured, "A beast!" Each were taking quick looks at the deformity on the ground in front of them, not wanting to appear rude, but each sickenly curious. They whispered how devastated the hosts must be, and were thankful it hadn't happened to them. "If that had happened to my Grimella," one man stated, "I don't know what I would do…" All were sympathetic to an extent, but each backed away from the monster as it shouted at them to go.

Her parents were the first to do so. In a sense, they disowned her there and then, but allowed her the freedom of isolation of the Opclime. After the Enchantress had left, the mansion became empty as more and more of the household sought employment elsewhere. A few remained, the head housekeeper to look after her, and the cook to feed her, but all kept their distance from the violet hallway. Soon, even those who had tried to stay for the girl's sake found they no longer could, and went away as well.

At thirteen she was the only inhabitant of the spacious building, and moved most of her things to the master room in the West Wing, claiming it as her own. In the mansion now rested the raspberry bush, which would wilt, then die in eight years. She placed it in the room a floor above hers, keeping it close but out of sight. Most days were spent wandering about the halls mindlessly; most nights spent in a restless lament. Always she kept a massive and heavy cloak drawn over her as she walked throughout the mansion, and if she glimpsed herself, she shuddered and collapsed. As the weeks progressed into months, she gradually grew used to the sight of the dark, ever-present veins on her arms and legs, and no longer flinched when her skin occasionally molted on the scar-shiny scale sections. Now there was no difference between the smooth, chocolate, waist-long hair she once had and the oily and matted nest on her head, and she learned to turn a blind eye to the warped bruises, severe pockmarks, and swollen red boils dotted across her entirety. In her seclusion, Arrhenius knew she would never come in contact with another human and no longer felt the need to cover herself everywhere in the house, and by fourteen had accepted her fate of isolation and fear.

However, we still haven't addressed how she made amends with the Enchantress. Arrhenius had been taught by her mother a few years before the basics of beading, which she herself once did before meeting her husband. At the end of the western hall was a studio-like room which housed stores of beads and needles. Once she had lessened her self-pity (for occasionally she still had bouts of them), she found that she had an enormous amount of time freed, and decided to spend it working on a piece inspired by the colors and flow of the Enchantress's gown. All throughout the piece's creation she poured all the feelings she had experienced in the past two years as she stitched the individual beads together, each one an hour she had spent alone. Her project took weeks, but her talent for manipulating the beadwork created a piece that could have been displayed in a royal exhibit. Upon its completion, Arrhenius took it solemnly and placed it outside the kitchen doors where she had first encountered the Enchantress, resolving then to completely isolate herself.

The next morning a small mirror appeared on the dresser across the bed, and Arrhenius examined the note next to it, embellished in a storybook script. It was from the Enchantress, and the paper instructed her how to use the mirror, a gift in return for the necklace. This mirror would allow its owner to view anyone anywhere in the world without having to leave the safety of the forest. Through the magic mirror, she was able to talk to the Enchantress, who was able to feel if she was being spied on. Regretful of her rash actions, the woman offered her guidance to her whenever she called, and would let her keep the mirror beyond the curse if it wasn't broken in time.

Years passed and Arrhenius gradually grew used to conversing with another person, and although she hadn't fully forgiven her for her spell, no longer harbored any ill will towards her. Even though she had the power to view anyone, it was always a one-sided occurrence as the person in question continued with his or her live blissfully ignorant. Now she only used her magic mirror to summon the Enchantress; she had once used it to attempt to find her parents, believing she could go and visit them, but one look of seeing them in a new, large home in the middle of a smiling crowd, happy and forgetful of her, kept her from ever seeking them out again.

"Enchantress," Arrhenius said, looking into the portal, "I am in need of your help."

The woman looked up and appeared to gaze straight through the mirror, giving her an almost-omniscient quality. "What is your matter?"

"I have a young man living in my home; he volunteered to stay in his mother's place. I'm not entirely certain on how to deal with him. If I let him go, he surely will bring a mob of the superstitious villagers into the forest to attack me. Nevertheless, keeping him here will only grow his resentment of me – I have tried to be accommodating, and he seems to be complacent enough, but that's partly because he hasn't seen me yet, I'm sure." Arrhenius had begun pacing barefoot on the soft floor.

"Well," the Enchantress began, thinking over the matter, "I believe you should continue to be welcoming and polite. Mainly you must keep yourself in check and remember to think beyond yourself when you act."

"Alright, I'll try that." The clock chimed, alerting her that it was almost time for supper, and that she ought to prepare for it. She said farewell to the Enchantress, leaving her to go and engage in other pursuits. Hunting down her jacket and boots, she haphazardly put them back on and threw her hair into a more flattering by comparison knot behind her. About to leave, she reached for her cloak, but paused, holding her arm out limply as she considered whether to hide herself again. Resigned, she put her hand back to her side and walked out, looking the other way as she did so. _He might as well see me as I am now rather than later, besides, this will be a good opportunity to know him better._

From the kitchen she fetched the dishes and placed them at opposite ends of the table in the dining room. There was a roast acorn squash with brown sugar and raspberry preserves she had for lunch, so she put that on his dish and went back to put a part of the pasta alfredo dish she had been planning to eat besides it. The remaining pasta she put on her plate, and after filling the two glasses with water, sat down. Arrhenius got up quickly, though, and, fearing the raspberries would give him bad memories of recent events, hastily swapped the dishes and sat down again, awaiting his arrival.

However, after half an hour, the food had grown cold and she had grown angry at her treatment. Bitter about his blatant refusal (for it was impossible not to hear the clocks chiming) she pushed her chair down as she stood up and walked with a purpose across the building towards the East Wing where Claude was staying. _How dare he just ignore me like that, _she thought, clenching her nails to her palms to keep calm. "He can't go and not obey me! This is my home, and he will respect that," Arrhenius furiously whispered as she entered the atrium. She glided up the stairs and walked down the hallway until she stood right in front of Claude's doorway. With no restraint she swiftly rapped on the door and began shouting for him to come out.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note: Alrighty, already up to five chapters (woop woop, it's time to party)! Still trying to post approx. once a week(ish). Reviews are always welcome and thank you for still reading so far. [Also, sorry if this is a bit of a boring-transition chapter. They're kind of necessary, and some people explode if there's too much back-to-back action so...they can be good for character development?] **

{V}

"CLAUDE! Why are you not at dinner? It has been two hours and still you remain in your room! You must come down now!"

Startled by the shrieking from the other side of the room Claude jolted from his sleep and began sitting up in his chair. For a bit, the unfamiliar surroundings confused him and he wondered where his table of precariously stacked books was along with why he wasn't in his bed with the blue and gold quilt from his mother. _His mother…_ It suddenly came back to him: her disappearance, the forest and the raspberries, and now this beast, furiously knocking for him to come.

He coughed and wiped his face dry. "No; I'm not hungry."

She was not satisfied with this answer. "You still must eat, and you will do so now!" she demanded.

Arms crossed, Claude answered, "I will not; I will stay in here and take my meal elsewhere." Defiantly he threw the small cushion he had been grasping in her general direction inside the room, out of sight. He knew he was acting childish, but felt justified right then.

At that moment the beast was quite infuriated by his rebukes, but she kept herself from throwing open the door and barging in. _Think beyond yourself when you act. _She tried again, differently. "Please, would you join me for dinner, Claude?" Her hands were kept tightly pressed together to contain her rage.

It didn't take long for him to utter a quiet "No," which broke the beast's resolve. "I am the mistress of this house, and you will do as I say! If that means eating dinner with me, a fate worse than _death, I'm sure_, then you will do so!" Her hair had fallen out of its entanglement into rough strands around her face.

To himself Claude viewed her as the death of his life as he knew it, and wasn't in a stable mood to sit face to face with her. Again denying her, he gripped the sides of the armchair violently, shocked by the beast's fury at the denial of the meal.

"FINE! If you won't dine with me, you won't dine at all! No food will be sent until you eat with me. This is final!" Disappointed and deeply angered about how things had turned out, she stormed away, heavy boots crashing against each tile in the hall as she did so.

Claude was terrified; he had never encountered someone as hot-headed as her. The outbursts seemed to spring from nowhere, and that worried him. There was still the tiniest bit of bread in his satchel, and he picked each crumb out into the center of his palm. The final gathering amounted to a pile no more than an inch across. Without thought he tilted his hand back so that the gruel entered his mouth. Not a dent in his appetite had been made. _Great –I'll starve to death before I even see my captor, _he thought bitterly.

He paced around, throwing both doors of the wardrobe outwards, believing there would at least be some clothes he could change into. There were two sets of casual wear next to each other on a shelf, a vest, tie, and slacks all present, along with a pair of soft pajamas with a dark plaid design on them below. In the back, hiding, was an elegant fashion of formal wear, unusual due to its vibrant colors. Instead of a general black and white garment, Claude pulled and straightened out a royal blue waistcoat bordered in a delicate beaded trim. Seeing the beads changed his demeanor about the piece and caused him to swiftly fling it back into the wardrobe, _knowing_ that an article this fine must have belonged to a duke who most likely crossed paths with the beast and lost, and didn't look at the rest of the ensemble.

Shaken, he took the creased pajamas in hand as he went to inspect the lavatory. There was a standard sink, toilet, and shower present, with two towels folded neatly over the rim of the tub, but no food. He changed out of his clothes, dirt-ridden from the forest grounds by now, and observed a few of the tears from his skid down the thorned hill on the back of his vest and pants. Now he was thankful there were spares in the wardrobe to replace his torn clothes, no matter where they had originally come from. The battered pieces were placed on the floor of the wardrobe, to keep them out of the way.

Light had completely left by now, and since Claude calculated his risk of running into the beast low, he decided to find the kitchen. Still wearing his socks, he carefully opened his door and walked to the end of the hallway, retracing the way the beast had taken him up to the atrium. Now in the center of the large space, he looked to the different ways he could go. He eliminated the West Wing, as she had been insistent about keeping him out of there and assumed she wouldn't have expected him to meet her for dinner there. Also eliminating the path he had just come from, with the adjacent room of jewelry spoils along the way, only two paths remained.

Claude walked straight ahead under a dusty chandelier into a separate gathering hall from the atrium. A large opening was in the periwinkle walls near the back, and through it, Claude could see a long dark oak table and cabinet of silverware and plates: the dining room.

He walked across the gilded tile and saw a single plate that had fallen off yet still remained intact. Most of the food still rested on the plate, with only a few outlier noodles having been flung around on the rug. At the other end, the engraved wooden dining chair rested on its side at a distance crooked to the table. Claude opened the glass panel of the cabinet to retrieve a fork, as the one meaning to go with his dish had been deeply lodged in a wall, and that terrified him. _How did she throw it so strong that it would pierce the wall, _he wondered. Taking the plate and sitting down at the end of the table the meal had fallen from, he placed his hands on one another and stared at the food. Awkwardly he sat in silence, aware of each scraping noise his utensil made as it scratched the surface of the plate. The pasta was average and was finished in little time, and Claude felt obliged to at least place the dish in the kitchen before returning to his quarters.

Arrhenius, after sulking away from the upper level of the East Wing, reentered the dining room and violently swiped at the plate nearest her, sending it to the floor to be buffered by the rug, and snatched her own plate up. _He just shrugs my demands off; he has no right! _She took the alfredo with her, kicking the back of her chair away from her to quickly get to her meal, causing it to crash against the floor, then retreated into her room. _This lack of respect must be corrected! _Secured behind locked doors (though she doubted the boy would seek her out anyways), she began eating, shoveling forkfuls of the pasta in a rage. _I WILL NOT BE IGNORED IN MY OWN DOMAIN! _Brooding at her desk, she finished the meal and left it precariously on the corner, folding her arms and staring lifelessly ahead.…_I will not be ignored._

_That had not gone at all like I had planned, _she mused. At least, she had hoped, he would have seen her and come to better understandings about the mansion. She would have been sure to clean up and dispel any rumors the townspeople had most likely formulated. Literally, all she did was work on projects that would never be seen, a wasted effort, she knew; not in years had she even talked with the remainder of humanity. This new experience, though novel at the time, already in a few short hours had grown out of hand.

Dismayed, Arrhenius retrieved her magic mirror and unclasped it, then demanded to see the Enchantress. The mirror swirled under the surface until an image of the Enchantress clasping a half filled wine glass appeared. "Yes, my child? How did your dinner party go?"

Looking away, she replied, "Not very well I'm afraid. I seem to have had the opposite effect of what I wanted."

The wine made lazy revolutions in the glass as she spoke with her sweet voice. "Well, you must understand that he's been taken as a prisoner–"

"That's not _my _fault! I'm just executing justice for the crime! _He's_ the one who switched places with his mother!"

The Enchantress took a small sip from the chalice as she heard Arrhenius grow more and more distressed at the situation. "Here's what I would suggest. Lessen your anger, what is it you did when he first denied you?"

"I told him he couldn't eat until he dined with me."

"See, that's a bit harsh, but," she was interrupted by a loud screech.

"If he won't eat with _me, _HE CLEARLY DOESN'T DESERVE TO EAT AT ALL!"

"Calm down," she murmured. "Calm down. Now what you need to do is firstly go and apologize to this boy, and allow him to eat. He probably hasn't had food all day, as he's been wandering in the Opclime for the most of it." Seeming satisfied with this solution she took another sip of the wine.

Arrhenius was about to retort about how he should be the one asking for _her_ forgiveness, but was cut short by a muffled thumping noise outside her doorway.

"Wait. I hear a disturbance. I have an idea of who would be the source," she said grimly. Ignoring the voice's pleas to reconsider Arrhenius smoothly closed the locket and stood up, plate in hand as she stood. Again on her way out she passed the burgundy cloak, but walked passed it, knowing how she wanted to present herself on this occasion. _He doesn't deserve to have mercy at this point; let him see me! He will see me and rue the day he disobeyed an order of mine._


	6. Chapter 6

{VI}

Claude had allowed his curiosity to outweigh the immense fear that had been building since his arrival. With the beast nowhere to be found, this was his best chance to scout out the West Wing. Still frightful of the beast, he had taken his fork with him as necessary defense. _I do hope that this is made of silver, at least, that's what I think the blacksmith's wife had said… _

During his stay in Terminn, he had stumbled across many tales about the mysterious she-beast of the Opclime, and, always eager to hear a story, subtlety eavesdropped on their tales. For instance, he knew that Helen, the blacksmith's wife, had a sister that had been married to a duke and had found an occasion for her to visit in town. Her sister had set out in her new finery, and the only path which was efficient was straight through the Opclime, as jagged rocks and the sea obscured the other means of travel. As the woman rode on her horse, a dark shadow whipped across in front of her, causing her to stop and try to control the horse, now startled. She said a voice called out from behind the trees, directed at her sister. "Give me your jewels," the scratched voice said, "or prepare to surrender your life instead." Frightened, and knowing she could most likely obtain a replacement from her husband, the woman unclasped her decedent necklace and threw it into the woods ahead, too afraid to see who was demanding these jewels. Still in mid-air, a hideous arm shot out to ensnare the jewelry in its claws, but howled in pain, dropping it for the diamond drops had each been encased in a lining of silver, a substance too pure to be comfortably in contact with this beast, Helen explained.

_I'm sure she knew what she was talking about with this silver_, he thought, clasping the cutlery, _after all, she knows her metals, being married to the blacksmith and all._ If all else failed, the fork at least had sharp tines, but he didn't want to think about that for the moment and kept shaking in back and forth between is fingers as he advanced through the gallery.

The wide corridor was lined with the display necks the caused Claude to shiver. He swore he could remember some obscure tale from the village to associate with each. The blue and green spiral set was stolen from a wealthy ship captain, capsized but able to reach the shore despite his injuries, and was only able to save the necklace inspired by his occupation. He traveled to deliver it as a gift to his betrothed as a means of remembering him, but was cruelly stopped and robbed by the beast with greedy eyes gleaming like the mimicked sea foam jewels. During this time, the full weight of his injuries took hold and the captain fell, never to wake again.

Or the delicate ivory architectured piece, just as he remembered imagining when a gaggle of the townsgirls had whispered to each other about. The leader of the group said that there was one necklace the beast had crafted by taking all the bones of her victims out of their bodies and carving each into grotesque beads, only to be strung together with a thread dyed by their blood. As Claude passed it, he looked away, not knowing what he would do if he saw a red string connecting them

Trembling, he told himself to be brave for the town, as it was now his duty to investigate the wrong doings in this mansion, and if it happened to involve the murders of the wealthy class, so be it. With a deep breath, Claude opened the mahogany door at the end of the upper hall. The engraved ovaline knob twisted only with severe difficulty, as it appeared to have rusted over disuse. The fork he once held so tightly in his fist now dropped when met with the abundance of empty space, save one mall detail.

In this hexagonal room lined to the top with peeling lavender striped wallpaper were two doors, a rug, and a small, ornate pedestal in the center that was much more glamorous than the object it sported on top. Instead of a fine porcelain vase or enameled ornament box as one would typically see, it was something seemingly insignificant, but had deeper meaning to Claude due to its role in the evening's transactions involving him, his mother, and the beast that now held him.

It was a raspberry shrub, but unlike the ripe ones guarding outside. At one time it must have been quite luscious, he speculated, but now all that remained was a barbed mass of twigs, all the leaves heavily dried up and crumbled into thin translucent wafers atop the dried-out dirt from which the plant (a too generous use of the word) grew. The thing bore few fruit; even then, the raspberries he saw were in varying states of decay. A bluish-grey mold had nearly devoured one while another appeared sore and close to bursting. Claude circled the pedestaled plant, bending in closer with each revolution.

A sharp tap from the other entrance caused him to jump and brush the table sporting the shrub. The raspberry bush warbled on the edge of its bowl which held it, tilting, only to be caught by Claude at the last moment. He unconsciously gasped upon seeing his captor in full light, and the image honestly frightened him for a minute.

Her hair was tangled and brown locks snaked out nearby her neck like the sporatic nature of lightning itself, and, though her arms and legs were covered, he could still see the hands which were his first impression of her. Still decayed in appearance and bearing sharp scars he was able to discern from his distance across the room, they were able to draw his focus from the first thing he saw when she entered: her face.

The jarring fact that kept his gaze lowered was that he _knew _how a face made a person, and that this face which held only enough similarities that it might be compared as incomplete was ingrained permanently into his mind as one that he should avoid. Only after a second he could recall eh tiniest detail. Pockmarked ripples intersected with pale scaly patches, and parts of the flesh around her ear was appearing to melt off. Her skin had a shine to it, but instead of a glow kissed by the moon to a maiden it resembled a sickly, sallow grease typically discarded from a pot. The worst feature was not so much the ugliest, but the most misplaced. In sunken sockets were two, indescribably beautiful eyes, as if they had been from another person entirely and didn't belong to this person in front of him, or two sapphires from one of the stolen cabochons had been removed and now acted as her irises instead. This contrast in perceptions caused her face to be a factor of deep disturbance, rather to just an appalling sight on its own.

"Well," she began, drawing it out to show her displeasure, aware of his shock at her missing cloak, "What are you doing here, Claude, in the _forbidden _West Wing?" Her boots were muffled by the rug as she approached him and the dying raspberry plant.

Taking notice of the flinching when she addressed him, she spoke again. "What? Are we not on a name-speaking basis? Can you not fathom that I have the ability to say to speak your name?"

Not wanting to further invoke her wrath, he thought before responding. "No, no, it's not that; I simply don't know _your_ name, therefore, it's like being up-handed one."

She quickly exhaled twice, a quick laugh he discovered, and a reaction he didn't expect. "Ha," she said drily, "I guess that's true. I am Arrhenius de Hemlighet, mistress of this mansion in the woods." He couldn't tell how sarcastic she was being as she mock curtsied in her moss colored trousers. Coming back up, though, she narrowed her eyes. "However, that doesn't change the fact you are here, without my permission."

Even though she had grabbed his wrist before, it was the overwhelmingness of now being able to place a face to the feeling of that hand that unnerved him so, and caused him the shudder inadvertently, but not discreet enough so that it didn't escape Arrhenius's attention. Slowly but sharply at the same time she retracted her fingers. "Ah, so it's _that,_ I see. I see that what you see unsettles you. Yes, I see…"

Claude was unable to think then with his fears being so head-on confronted, and was relived he made no unconscious displays betraying his true terror in front of her. His knees were bent with fatigue, and this Arrhenius seemed to begin towering over him, growing and growing as he shrunk into the weave of the rug.

She started with a tight smile, but its outline dissolved the longer she conveyed her opinion of the situation, her voice becoming louder and thicker as she did so. "Do you think I don't know that? Do you really believe that? That I go around in ignorance of my condition, that I'm a fair little maid unjustly shunned? No. I know; I KNOW! I wake up to this every morning and I feel it when I go to sleep every night. So yes, I know, and I don't need you to remind me."

Taking a step back, she turned away, embarrassed how escalated it had become. Claude had moved to under the pedestal, and her turning would at least relieve his eyes from herself. "Just go," she muttered, barely breathing the words. When no movement ensued, she whipped around on her heel. "Just _GO_!" she shouted, and walked quickly towards the exit, slamming the doors behind her with a crash as she left.

Just outside of the door Arrhenius could hear soft footsteps retreat, and she slowly exhaled, feeling more heartbeats wasting away as she returned to her chambers.

Out of Claude's earshot, she expressed her anger at his ignorance and threat towards her cursed raspberry. "He learned this lesson approximately three hours ago: _don't_ _touch the raspberries_! It's that simple! One would think he knew that by now." She paced at the foot of her bed. "Honestly, what was he thinking? 'Oh look, a freaking raspberry! Not like it's caused me enough misery, let me _grab_ this one," she enacted, grasping her bedpost and swiveling around the corner as she did so. "Why couldn't you just have stayed inside the tiny town limits like every other dunderhead that's lived there so far."

Sitting on the edge, she looked out the window as it showed a pitch black sky and the glistening thorns 'round the hillside. There was an unexpected thud from the front of the building, and Arrhenius gripped her sheets in reflex. _What was that? Who was that?" _Unwilling to leave her quarters for the moment, she retrieved her miniature mirror and held it between her palms. "Show me the Hemlighet manor front entrance," she demanded.

An outlook from the pillars was shown, and halfway up the hill she could make out the figure of a young man scaling it in the dark. Immediately knowing who it was, she clasped the locket and returned it, standing while beginning to tighten her boots. She fastened half of the cloak around her shoulders for warmth and left the hood down. She reasoned with herself the reasons for bring back this boy. "My debt hasn't been repaid: one day doesn't nearly equate to a life sentence." _Also, the forest can get a tad…odd at night, and he certainly isn't prepared for that. His inexperience would get him killed, and his body would attract all kinds of…yes, it's for the best that I go and drag him back._


	7. Chapter 7

{VII}

Determined to get back to the town and his mother, Claude stormed off with his satchel past the raspberry border and over the hill. _She said to go, and I most definitely will take her upon this. _Not knowing if he would have such an opportune moment again, he left soon after her departure.

In the night only the tops of the trees were illuminated, the path below was tinted with both grey and uncertainty. A few times already he had inadvertently met head-on with the solid trunk of a hidden tree, and once had he ignored a small stream in his way and walked through it, soiling his boots as they got wet. With his feet drenching water every step, the memory of the mansion grew further and further away.

Arrhenius had already begun to search for Claude before the forest got the better of him. Her fortified cloak kept the chilled air away, repelling it elsewhere during her search. The torn bramble in front of her gave a guess at Claude's intended direction. _Surely he realizes that the way he's going will only lead him to the sea, not that town._ However, she sighed, knowing very well he had no idea he was traveling the wrong way. _Besides, even if he did manage to head the right way, the Opclime would have managed to twist his way for sure._ There were times when she herself didn't know the forest, and if she was still being stumbled by the trees after seven years there was no chance Claude would be able to make it out quickly. It simply became a search to find him standing confused in the middle of some trees, not knowing why he felt as though he had just passed them moments before.

Even easier her hunt became after she found soggy footprints. _How thoughtful, _she remarked, wondering if this could get any easier. The moist leaves lead her around tree stumps and she could see instances when he had doubled back on himself, growing more unsure she knew, and crossed his path several times, definitely lost by now. However, her good luck shifted when she felt a raindrop hit her finger. _Oh no,_ Arrhenius thought: she had wished to make finding him straightforward, instead she would now be guided by screams.

All the trees looked the same. Each had symmetric branches and each managed to keep him pondering about the right way to go. He shivered from the damp as he continued, and became very thirsty from his pointless travel. _It probably would have been better to stay for a bit longer, perhaps try escaping with more daylight, _he speculated, becoming more and more irked when he tripped carelessly on an unseen root or stone in his path.

A pattering sound began above him, and he inched upwards slightly, hopeful for the rain, knowing it would keep him going towards Terminn. He had waited for his thirst to be quenched, and was relieved at the rain when drops filtered through the dense canopy towards the ground. No, he wasn't. Like sharp pinpricks, each drop that fell in contact with him stung him. _I had never heard of this oddity in the forest before ¸_he thought, surprised no one had mentioned it before to him. Now fearful of the rain, for his mind had become slightly scattered from the past few days' events, Claude immediately took shelter near a particularly large tree. He breathed out for a second, then sharply drew it back in when he looked up: he was no longer in the same place he just was in before the rain fell. Although this feeling had been suppressed before, being dismissed for fatigue or dehydration, now he definitely knew his environment had changed. No longer was there a protection of leaves above him, for they had been replaced with sparse trees that allowed more of this harmful and mysterious rain to come closer to him. Unless he kept his body pressed tightly against the rough bark of the trunk, a torrent of the acid would scald him instead of only being grazed with it in his current position. The satchel was able to be unfolded and placed on top of his head like a helmet that allowed the rain to roll away from his face, but it only kept that part safe. The shirt he was wearing was thin, and it was only able to absorb the acid and spread it long his arm. They shook in pain, and he wasn't able to control a slight whimpering. He had to try to ignore it to keep standing or else he would be hurt even more if he fell. Claude knew he wouldn't be able to last long if he continued unprotected through the forest. Half an hour later and the rain had not let up, leaving him trapped in the night.

Not sure if his eyes were betraying in the stinging mist, he believed he saw a huddled shape growing closer towards him. No animals seemed to live in the forest, and he was wary of anything advancing in this unbearable weather. As it grew closer, it began to take on more color in spite of the acid. A burgundy shape with a drawn hood approached him, and Claude was unable to run, trapped by one fear for another.

With a trembling hand, the…Arrhenius slightly lifted her hood so that he might hear her. "Claude, I know you are trying to escape, but you must come with me back to my home."

He didn't answer, allowing the rain to speak for him, attempting to hide his pain-induced shaking from her.

She sighed, knowing it would take some convincing to get him to return with her. "I've lived through this rain before; when it starts it lasts for a week at the very least. I highly doubt you would be able to survive week of this acid planted right here with this tree with no food or drink. Really, you must return. Come." Arrhenius had replaced her hood and unfastened the ornate clasp of her cloak. "You will put this on and it will shield you from the scalding as you come back."

"No, I won't put that on."

"It's not contaminated with ugliness if that's what you're concerned about," she said bitterly.

Claude lessened his shaking. "No, it's that you'll be burned if you take that off; I've only been hit with a minor dose of this, and I feel like collapsing."

She quickly laughed and replied, "I appreciate your concern but I assure you, I've faced worse and I'll make it through this as well. This cloak is only large enough for one person; as my guest you receive first rights."

He believed her, but wouldn't let the matter drop. "I won't take that cloak from you!" In raising his voice he had strayed from the trunk, causing a teaspoon's amount of rain to hit his neck, the hissing of the acid and his cry merging.

Arrhenius inhaled quickly hearing this, and gave her final word to him. "Stop arguing with me and accept that if you don't put this on, you _will _most likely die. I'll be fine; the rain burns will just blend right in." She drew out her arms and pulled it off, immediately wrapping it around Claude.

When she was exposed to the acid she was unable to keep in a scream as painful to the ears as was to her skin. Controlling her breathing focused her and numbed the sensation of needles being pushed slowly into her arms and neck. She angled her head down to keep the rain from entering her mouth, and silently gestured for Claude to follow her back to the Hemlighet manor.

_You might not show the wounds of this rain afterwards, but you will be deeply pained on the inside for doing so,_ he thought as she lead them effortlessly around the trees unaffected by the odd precipitation. The cloak around him was heavy, and its weight was warm and comforting as it repelled the streams of rain away from him. He watched as they ran off the surface, joining with others until they had enough momentum to fly free from it into the ground below. No amount of the acid penetrated inside, all was kept outside and off his person. The inner wool faintly smelled of raspberries, and the scent distracted him from his current pain.

In front of him he could see Arrhenius bearing the brunt of the potent acid, masking most of her involuntary shudders from his sight even though after a minute she had already been in more contact with the corrosive substance than he. She was confident in her path as they returned to the mansion, but the closer they went the weaker she became, he saw. Her knees bent further and her back hunched a bit with each meter crossed to alleviate her face.

Arrhenius crossed the briar border surrounding her abode and fell sideways, as the rain did not fall past the raspberry guardians. Only able to sluggishly move her hands over her face before she made contact with the ground, Arrhenius groaned as the thorns pierced her skin, then went still.

_No, this wasn't how I planned my escape going¸ _Claude thought, already on his knees beside her checking for her breath. _How would she have…why would she come for me? Why at all?_ Continuing to wear his captor's cloak, he slowly picked her up, head on the right, feet at the left. The fine ends of her scraggled hair brushed the edge of his chin, slightly tickling him, a contrast to what he had just experienced at the drops of the rain. Claude skillfully made his way down the hill, not being tripped by brambles this time, and entered the already ajar doorway into the mansion again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Apologies for late update- had semester exams to study for and take (stares intently at the BC Calculus book) along with the Legend of Korra epic finale (if any readers watch that series).With all that business behind, I present the next chapter. **

{VIII}

Laying Arrhenius on the couch in the main atrium, Claude walked room to room in a near panic, not sure what he should do. He was still trapped in the mansion due to the continuing rain, and he was very uncertain about the state of his captor. He muttered allowed what the characters in the books he had read would do in his situation, but wasn't able to merge all his fictional idols' actions into one cohesive plan.

A quiet groan reached his ears from where he was pacing, and prompted him to go quickly towards its utterer. Two sapphire eyes greeted him from her immobile body. She dared not move, as to do so would further excite her wounds. The more conscious she become the more aware she became of the piercing individual thorns that had embedded themselves in her palms, fingers, and wrists. The acid rain had also caused numerous burning rashes and swellings, both causing backlash pain.

She spoke his name softly, and he leaned in closer to hear her better. "There is a small tub of salve that will help me in the kitchen. It is in the top cabinet by the knives. Also, if you could put one of the small packets by it in warm water, that would be good."

Nodding, he entered the kitchen and, after searching through a few of the cabinets, found a small pot to place on the inset stovetop, filling it with a small amount of water first. Across the room was the cupboard housing the packet and the cream. The packet dissolved from its compressed rectangular bagging and began flavoring the water once put in. _Is this… just tea? _he wondered, now doubting its medical properties and believing he had just been ordered to make a simple drink. As the packet steeped, Claude gently picked up the tin, flinching at its cool temperature.

He opened the canister as its aroma gently seeped out. It was cloying, bitter, but also a tad sweet. _Raspberries, _he thought as his nose recognized the undertones, not too much surprised, as there was an abundance of the fruit here, rather interested how it came to be in a balm combatting acid rain.

Returning with the salve and an odd cup with tea (it actually was a measuring glass; he couldn't find anything else to pour it in), Claude handed the latter to Arrhenius and began working on some of the thorns that had become tangled in her skin. She was breathing quickly, almost in a panic, but was attempting to keep it subdued. Each time he dug out a shard of the briars out she sucked in air quickly and sloppily took a swallow of the tea.

A small collection of thorns grew into a pile on the nearby tabletop, a small pool of blood dousing each on the round wood. Wordlessly he handed her dabs of the salve for her to rub on her arms, neck and head, places most gravely affected by the acid rain. As she massaged it carefully between sips of tea, Claude raised his head and met her eyes.

"Thank you for rescuing me," he said quietly, but the silence of the Hemlighet manor magnified his words.

After a few seconds Arrhenius responded in a like manner. "Yes…" She wasn't surely able to think of a correct reply that would come out right. A minute passed before she could add anything on. "You are welcome," she said, continuing to spread the medicine across her arm. "Can't have you dying out in the middle of the forest; your body most likely would attract rioters from the village, disturbing my existence in this forest."

"What?" he asked, not sure of her logic.

"Nothing, nothing," she alleged, quickly brushing her prior statement away. _I should have just cut off at the "you are welcome;" that would've come across more compassionate without the sarcasm tag._

Another moment of silence passed as she finished with the salve, drinking from her cup in the lulls of the conversation. Suddenly she gripped the armrests of the chair, nearly shattering the thick glass when it hit the floor leaving her hand.

"Wha-what's happening?" Slightly panicked, Claude fretted seeing Arrhenius begin to start shaking in her seat.

"It has been so long, I forgot," she mumbled, then raising her voice to give an explanation. "It's the salve: it is able to significantly heal wounds caused by the acid rain in the Opclime, but it costs. The pain occurs during the healing." Her words were calm but that was it. Her limbs had begun to flail more franticly than before, and it unsettled Claude. The mess of hair she had begun flopping forward, covering most of her face and depositing acid that was still absorbed and hadn't been washed off, causing small cries she tried to smother.

Looking up she said to him, "Tell me a story. Something to distract me with." She knew of his hobby of reading, and hoped he could recite something from one of his books to help her cope through the salve's tough healing.

Taking a moment to collect the all the aspects he would need, Claude begun. "Once there was a young girl who, after a terrible turn of events, came to live with her stepmother and two stepsisters. This girl was beloved by all except for those she lived with, for they-"

"Claude, I hate to be rude, but I've heard this tale before, with the ugly stepmother and sisters (you needn't edit that detail out for my own sake) and how the beauty wins a prince by showing up to a dance. Honestly, if you're trying to distract me you will need to do better than that. Besides, why do you assume the ugly ones are the ones who wish wreck to wreak havoc? Appearances _aren't _everything. I mean, if I went around trusting every beautiful person I met, I'd get nowhere," she responded to the actions of the antagonists in his story.

Understanding but slightly irked, he searched his mind for a more intriguing story. "Alright, I hope this tale is more suiting to your tastes. Once in a distant country surrounded by water, deserts and trees lived a man and his daughter. He was the law of the land, and knew that if his daughter should marry, his power would be shifted, and he ousted. To prevent this, he ordered those whom he reigned over to construct a thirty story building, with a room at the peak which he intended to store his daughter. Next he challenged any suitors to come and see if they could rescue this damsel, knowing a large flock would appear.

"However, the tower was made so that each level housed a different obstacle intended to slaughter anyone who entered it, and it was the father's plan to eliminate all potential suitors who might replace him in the land. Each obstacle had been inspired by the country's surroundings, desert, forest, and sea. Arrogant and foolish, the foolish men stormed confidently in but none ever came out, with or without the girl. Yet, after at least a hundred men had never returned, another strode forward, not too different from the others other than the fact that he sincerely wished to free her, as he himself had been held against his will for a period of a year. This man, Trilthumenter, was met by the father and given his blessing, as he had done to all the previous men, and watched him walk into the stone tower like the others, but was about to be disappointed."

Arrhenius's jolts had softened as she eagerly listened to this more enthralling tale. Claude too had become engrossed in his own storytelling, illustrating the surroundings and keeping the plot progressing.

"In the first story hung medieval axes, double-headed and swinging across the room, blocking the ladder at the opposite side. Trilthumenter dodged each, rolling along the walls and floor to avoid the inscribed silver axes. The next level was nothing but darkness: a thick heavy shroud of night enveloped the room, hiding away dangers unseen. But the man took the contents of his jacket pockets, loose change from his payment to stay at the inn, and flung them against the walls, luring the invisible creatures away as he blindly ran down the center, escaping the ink-like room. In these trials he faced scalding fire and icy blasts, and kettle-sized ants. He came across a room bedecked with jewels and precious metals, but knew that greed would doom him, as to remove any piece would trigger a violent chain reaction. Poisonous gasses seeped out through vents in another, each spewing a different vapor in an attempt to cause the most suffering. To avoid suffocation, Trilthumenter obscured his face with the cloth of his shirt and, only with mild coughing, made it past."

The pain of the healing salve had lessened until the spasms ceased, leaving Arrhenius invested in the brave tale of Thilthumenter and his witty escapes and hopeful rescue.

"Finally after dodging thirty of the man's best modes of death, he opened the last door and said to the girl he had come to help her escape. Working together, they were able to go through the tower's deceits in reverse, and then thoroughly disgrace her father, revealing his thirst for power. He was banished to live in the tower of his own creation and Thilthumenter dedicated a mass grave to those who had died before him at the hands of the cruel tower. He and the girl were married, and the land prospered."

Finished, Claude rested his arms beside him, and Arrhenius appeared to be better, enthralled with this superior story. Nevertheless, she was still not fully recovered, as her taunt skin was paler than what he had seen, causing the red sores and pink-brown scars to stand more vividly against her face and arms. "Now it appears to be my turn to thank you," she said, retrieving her still intact glass from her feet.

"Oh, yes, I rather enjoy that one myself." He sighed, then sat up, smelling something. "By chance, are there any…raspberries in that?" he asked, pointing to the contents of the cup.

He snorted and nodded cradling the glass between her hands. "Please realize my life runs on raspberries at this point," she said feebly, taking a sip of the tea that flavor.

Deciding not to elaborate on what that meant, he went to ask her what she thought of the tale, but found she was no longer seated cross from him.

Arrhenius had moved from the reclined chair, now standing weakly by the edge of the doorway. "Claude, you should take some too," she said, gesturing to the medicine in the tin.

"Oh, er, yes, I suppose so." Before scooping some of the salve out for himself he stood up and attempted to follow her. "You're still injured, let me escort you-"

"No," she stated, hearing faint but determined in her demand. "I thank you for aiding me," _even though you are the one who was responsible,_ "but I reside in the West Wing, which I still would prefer for you to not to enter."

With that she retreated, leaving him alone with the cream in his palm, wondering how the atmosphere between them had been altered and where it stood now.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: I apologize for the delay: my school has issued winter break work (English, which takes the longest due to its analytical nature) and thus I have had to devote much time to that (ha, actually at this point haven't yet finished...). Anyways, chapter nine! One away from ten! Reviews are always appreciated, hoorah!**

{IX}

A few isolated days had passed in the Hemlighet manor: Claude remained in the room he had been given while Arrhenius stayed in hers. Though the salve had done its job well, it did nothing to aid the troubled marks caused by her raspberry's thorns. With the wounds not fully blended into the 'healthy' skin, Arrhenius was unable to perform delicate work with her hands. _Well, I must postpone a few off my projects_, she mused, resigned for the time being. Thus she rested and passed time speaking to the Enchantress (she did not feel up to it to approach her prisoner, as that was what he was, she admitted) until she regained her dexterity.

Claude, alternatively skimmed quickly through the books left shelved in his chamber in an attempt to keep his mind active, snacking on small tarts that had appeared on the table stand each morning. Seldom sleeping, he reasoned that Arrhenius needed time to heal, and the manner in which he saw her off did not seem that inviting. After reading through surprisingly interesting tales about a cartographer's magic globe, living paintings, and the mishaps of a particularly bothersome bassoon, his mind wandered back to what had entertained him during his stay in Terminn: legends of the beast in the woods. More tales of lavish and vain heists and missing persons spurred by unseen greed flooded his mind once more to help him bid his time in solitude. Though he knew deep down not all the myths were true, in her absence, his doubts began to fester. How did he really know Arrhenius's true intensions? _She hadn't done anything to validate herself against the other rumors. Myself she saved, yes, but that doesn't speak for all deeds in the past, or present,_ he bemused.

In the midst of recalling one rumor, there was a small yelp, a sound of pain coming from across the building, loud enough to reach Claude's lodgings. After reciting a plethora of tales about the danger of the Opclime, he was set on edge easier and his eyes darted about, alerted by the noise. He suspected there was someone else in the mansion, a person besides himself and Arrhenius. The large imposing doors had been moved earlier that day (their size and marble material meant any ins or outs were echoed throughout the halls for all to hear), perhaps to admit another lost wanderer prepared to make a bargain? Nevertheless, Claude now felt responsible for the new soul (he suspected) now residing in the building, and the pained noise he had heard urged him to find out what was going on, even if it required rescuing someone from Arrhenius. He exited the room, ending his seclusion.

Unable to forget, though, the scattered warnings he had recounted not moments ago about the one who killed for wealth followed Claude as he walked toward the sound of dull hammering and snapping. _What sort of torture is occurring for such sounds to be made,_ he wondered, putting the mechanical sounds along with the cry he had heard earlier. Soon he was at the entrance of Arrhenius's hall: an area of the manor she had still forbidden him to enter. Well, that wouldn't stop him, he decided; he was suspicious Arrhenius was keeping someone, someone she might kill.

"Tch!" Another yelp sounded down the hallway to Claude. _That's it. _He had to save whoever was being held by Arrhenius. Softly making his way down the West Wing, he carefully checked the rooms for signs of their presence, finding none until he arrived at the end of the hall to the last room, the only one with the door closed. Ear pressed to it, the unsettling sounds were magnified. Determined, he steadied himself then threw open the heavy wood door, hoping to startle Arrhenius. His goal achieved, she flinched as she was disturbed, shouting now.

"Goodness, Claude! What are you doing here? I'm busy at the moment; go away."

"Eh?" Claude stood there in the studio gaping. He didn't see anyone being tortured; the only other one occupying the room was a very clearly annoyed Arrhenius. "What was that hammering noise?" he asked nervously, fidgeting with the buttons on his vest, now unsure of the nature of his visit along with looking for shards of bone within the mess of the workspace. All he could find were small metal findings, bits gleaming from the floor with a grey sheen. Scissors and all types of beads imaginable, differing in size hue and material laid across numerous tables around the room, highlighted with dozens of sophisticated bead masterpieces hung precariously on the walls.

Arrhenius pointed to the table she was sitting at with a pair of long pliers, black steel with gold engraving, contrasted by being held between her almost recovered fingers, still bearing the thorn marks amongst other scars and sores. "I had to cut a length of metal rods with my pliers," she said, pinching their ends together at Claude, the clacking of the sharpened ends causing him to step back into a wall.

Feeling the surface, he looked up to one of the necklaces displayed on the wall, a green organza-like piece bedecked in minute jewels bursting from the edges and another red piece worked in wire so fine that it appeared to be lace. Gesturing to both, he asked, "What about _these_ then?" Walking to another side and keeping the distance from Arrhenius, he gently held one of the elaborate cabochon studded black filigree. "Who did _this_ belong to?" he asked, referencing another one of the stories from Terminn that came to mind.

"Excuse me?" Arrhenius approached him and the necklace, continuing to hold her pliers defensively. "That right there is a master work that took me four months to craft!" Holding the beaded loops delicately she told him, "I spent days working on this design! Days, only for the mere concept!" She talked about her other hanging creations in the same tone until Claude stopped her.

"Wait, are you saying you yourself made all of these?" Looking at the supplies strewn about the place, he assumed it was undeniable, along with judging at how enraged she had become at the accusation.

Letting go of a clasp she was currently praising, Arrhenius turned to face him, a questioning look on her face. "Yes, were you not listening?" She placed the pliers in the pocket of the brown jacket she wore, copper embellished and fitted, to cross her arms in a condoning stance directed at him. "Each and every piece in this mansion I made during my 'exile' here."

A peculiar piece made up of stone colors caught his eye as he stared at the small line of blue gemstones, connected and twisting along the length of the grey necklace. _It is so similar to the brook I came across in the Opclime- the movement, the texture, all the same._ Eyes not quite level with the horizon, he remained facing downwards with the piece kept in his peripherals. "They are all stunning, well made for sure."

"Ha, why thank you," she said, crossing her knees and bowing, arms out from her sides. Stooping, she retrieved one of glass beads which had went flying from her workspace when interrupted by Claude, rolling the smooth surface in her rough palm. After returning it to the small box containing others of its kind, Arrhenius sat down and resumed her task, holding her needle expertly.

Claude walked around the studio for a while, assessing the pieces in the room, then stopped as a thought came to mind, a slight criticism of her behavior. "Why, why do you do that? Your mock curtsey, when you're…so obviously wearing…trousers." He regretted his statement when she looked up from her work, placing down the beaded lace to look him in the eye.

"There's not any form of troops that will be coming in to arrest me for wearing these pants and not a dress. I'm wearing pants because they are comfortable and more practical to me. I don't judge _you_ for wearing pants and not a skirt, do I?" Arrhenius ranted.

"That's not- alright then." Not certain what to do, as Arrhenius had again lapsed into silence to concentrate once again on the necklace at her station, he paced for about a minute, then discreetly took his leave. There was a back stairway at the end of the hall, shabby in comparison to the grand staircase in the atrium, which he scaled instead for the sake of saving time. Each piece he passed displayed in the hallway above the West Wing he saw in a different light, now aware of how they actually came into being. He could fully admire the artisanship without being intimidated by a looming and untrustworthy history. At the end of the hall, Claude walked by an open room, dark and overbearing. He caught a glimpse of the rotting raspberry plant, in a slightly worse condition than before, and ignored it as he returned to his quarters, enlightened.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's****note: **I have retuned after a (however long it's been) time filled with cram studying for tests, feverish practicing for auditions (which I did quite well on, so hoorah) along with the inevitable writer's block. However, after such a crisis I found it necessary to construct a (loose-ish) outline for how this will conclude (as it is steadily approaching that). (I'm going parenthesis crazy it seems, so now I'll stop and present the tenth chapter). (Also, I shall attempt to pace my typing to be able to release once a week as I had previously been doing). (More parenthesis).

{X}

(Back in the town of Terminn)

It had been roughly a week since Madam Hemmingway had returned to her cottage on the beast's bark-colored horse, shaken still from her encounter in the Opclime. She fretted constantly around the borders of her home, keeping the horse in the back garden, as it refused to go off when shooed away. _Probably fears going back to its master, _she thought, troubled by the way she had been separated from her son. There was nothing more she wanted than to storm fearlessly back into the grim forest, yet she was held back by her own worry and natural timidness she had acquired over the years.

Before she had been allowed to leave, the beast escorted her out into the hazy atmosphere and brought her to the brown horse, and there quietly told her that she must tell no one in the town of her presence, or attempt to return, as she would not be able to be saved again. Beginning to protest, she faltered when the hood of the cloak moved sharply so that the face underneath was revealed. Madam Hemmingway stumbled and clutched onto the horse's saddle to remain upright in her fright of the deep-rooted scars and close-surfaced veins. Immediately, taking advantage of her weakened state, the beast gave a final warning to remain away. Though a well-reasoned woman who respected her own dealings, she felt no obligation to this monster that had deprived her of Claude. Her son was well liked enough in the town, surely enough to warrant a search into the dangerous Opclime, she thought.

Past the small country home at the end of the trail was the Ponquet estate, also housing a fretful member within its vicinity. Grimella balanced both her fighting off suitors and worrying for the state of Claude well, especially after requests had increased upon Claude's blatant refusal. However, neither she nor her influential father had fully given up on their arrangement. Grimella sought to make Claude hers, and so far in life she had not been denied anything she wished for. The Ponquet heiress came together with her family to discuss how to solve the catastrophic abandonment of her soon to be betrothed.

"Father," Grimella stated, delicately folding her hands across her lap, "I believe I know what I want for my birthday this year." In a natural motion she smoothed her cream gloves and looked up to him.

"Why yes, my darling?" Lately he had been conspiring as well for ways to bring the Hemmingway into their household, and had unsuccessfully attempted to locate his current whereabouts, with his mysterious disappearance after meeting with him that one day.

"I very much so would wish to host a ball, not precisely here, but instead at the Terminn Theatre Lounge." She primly took a sip of tea from the china cup in front of her, placing the flowered porcelain back on its saucer before continuing. "A masquerade ball, specifically, if that could be arranged."

Holding his walking stick across his knee, Mr. Ponquet thought about his daughter's request for a dance, formal in its occasion but unique in its being in costume. The Terminn Theatre Lounge which she spoke of could easily be obtained, as he and some of the older residents knew the building continued to be owned by their family, donated to the town for public functions while retaining the exclusive jurisdiction. "Well, that seems to be able to be done, my girl. I'll sort through the papers and deliver them promptly. Nothing less for my Grimella. I shall see to it that it is the most extravagant event happening of the times." With his agreement given, he left her to finish her afternoon drink in the parlor.

Both she and her father would now help in drawing her ideal suitor in. With her newly announced ball set into being, she continued plotting in that she might lure everyone near under the pretense of lightheartedness. Having paid attention to the weeks he was in town, Grimella suspected that something as mystical and enchanting as a masquerade would surely pique Claude's interest, himself seeming to be attracted to the unreal and illogicalness found his stories and books. Surely sights of a sweeping ballroom filled with cordiality and mystique would have him reminiscing about romantic novels stored within his mind, and she wish to play this fault to its upmost advantage. However, she knew that no matter how alluring the dance might seem, he would be driven from the site should he find it was on Ponquet grounds. No, this way the obscurity would blind his dislike and Grimella was sure to win him over.

Unable to kept herself going, Madam Hemmingway stopped weeding her nightshade garden and went to seek a way to retrieve her son, anxious and worried after having been left for over three weeks. The household had once again begun gathering dust, and the pantry was in a state of disarray after having been so ill-managed. Refusing to stay curled away in her home like a shadow Madam Hemmingway resolved to rouse the town into a force daring enough to brave the Opclime for the sake of rescuing her son.

Her shawl bundled tightly and squared against her shoulders, she exited her cottage hesitantly, being met with the frisk wind of the season. _Alright then, all I have to do is announce this creature in the forest, and I soon shall have my son returned._ Her desperation to rescue her son was on par with the valor he had shown earlier in the midst of the raspberries. No one particularly made any sort of recognition of Claude's absence; it was if he had never made his presence known in Terminn in the time he had lived there. Daily life had continued: the streets were bustling with the townspeople running their errands, the residential farms were tended to, and betrothal pleas constantly cropped up around the Ponquet manor. Amidst her strolling, looking for the right person to confide in, she came across Marcus Ponquet standing by the town's center hub. Deciding the most powerful family in Terminn might have the best chance of rescuing her son, she approached him, prepared to make her argument.

"E-excuse me, Mr. Ponquet? I-"

Stopped by his presence as he turned around to fully face her, she stuttered off her clear-cut speech she had earlier prepared and fell silent.

"Why, Madam Hemmingway! How have you been?" He looked past her, then continued in a slightly different voice, almost indistinguishable. "How is your son?" Leaning against his polished cane, he waited for a response, imposing as a stone mausoleum.

"Well, sir, I am slightly troubled, and yes, it does involve my son, Claude. He's gone missing. No, abducted and held hostage is more accurate. Right now he's being held against his will in the Opclime!"

Dimly remembering Claude's destination when he was approached by him, Mr. Ponquet considered the rage and concern of the woman in front of him before responding. "Ah, yes…as my memory serves, I believe it was _you_ who was lost and the Opclime, and _he_ who went to get you."

"You're right; he did find me, but at the cost of his own freedom! Right now he's being held by a savage being, and has been in such a state for the past month almost! This beast, this horrible beast won't let him go, as he traded himself for me!"

"You, you say? Hmm…yes, quite interesting." The noise between the two had drawn some of the residents near, slowing their pace as they approached to hear more.

Sensing he was brushing her off, she became more adamant in pleading the urgency of the matter. "Mr. Ponquet, please, I know your daughter is fond of him; if he comes back, I'm sure she would be ever so happy. You must, please! The Opclime is too slippery and for me to navigate on my own. Only a team who knows the forest can retrieve him. I know you can bring him back, please!"

"Who exactly is this 'beast' you say who has your son captive? What makes you describe them as such?" Now he grew more amused at Madam Hemmingway's frantic behavior, panicked as a chicken running about on its last day.

"It is hideous!" Madam Hemmingway grasped her hands to her face. "Only rugged scars and a patchwork of bruises make up her face! Sickening, dark and crusted lines of old wounds together with starkly vivid pulsing veins connect the parts of her flesh I swear! Her hair is a matted mane down her scalp, twining with the other strands in an overall ghastly appearance!" Continuing to appeal to Mr. Ponquet in this fashion, she gestured to the rest of herself, comparing the monster's likeness in reference to that of her own physique.

He slowly lifted his hand from his walking stick to hush her. "Listen, Madam Hemmingway. I believe you, be assured, I truly do, but this… this _beast_ you speak of seems to stretch the matter at hand a tad beyond reality. We can…help you; I am sure it's what Claude would have wanted. Here is what I can do for you: I will use my influence to gather a group of young men to go out into the forest. There they will search, thoroughly at that, they will, and in their wake, they will deposit slips of paper, addressed to him in accordance with your need.

"If he's _really_ out there, stranded in the Opclime (or even still alive for that matter) as you suggest then I'm sure he would immediately come to your aid upon seeing the invitation. How's that- an agreeable deal?"

Infuriated at his doubt and easy way of discrediting the truths she had seen with her own eyes she shouted louder about the beast in the woods, surrounded by a wall of impenetrable thorns and viscous nature. As she continued to boast about the beast sulking in the forest, stealing her son, a crowd formed in a ring around the pair, one calm, the other livid with distress. The strain in screeching her words to the jeering people grew until she collapsed in the middle of describing the horrible, ugly features the monster possessed, ranting about the hollowed pockmarks and sallow skin.

Mr. Ponquet was able to shoo off the curious townspeople, sating their curiosity with prior accounts of the woman's madness, attributing her odd behavior now to those in the past. However, he knew there was some truth rooted in her rambling, and that there was indeed a possibility of Claude being stranded in the forest. Tucking his walking stick away, he bent to carry the woman crushed on the stone paving back to his manor, where she would remain as leverage. _Still, if it has been about a month as she says, without any outside source of food or water he surely is alive no longer. _He was slightly disappointed, as his Grimella had taken a liking to him, and this inconvenience eliminated the one worthy husband both had agreed on.

Also, a faint memory some years ago stirred in the back of his mind at the description Madam Hemmingway had provided. Its significance didn't make itself clear until he had reached the entry way of his home. A few empty rooms out of the way of common travel in the household lined the halls of the third floor, hardly ever used. There once was a wealthy family who lived farther from the town's borders, almost isolated except for the fact they had lavish parties and gatherings frequently, much more so than even the Ponquets, and thus their status followed as such. The only fact which kept them from outranking the Ponquets in power was this distance from the everyday life. One of the ajar rooms had a small bed and a dresser already laid out, with the bathroom located across the hall. He then thought back again to the mansion, quite magnificent when he visited, each wing more extravagant than his own, _surely it would be run down and decrepit after years exposed to the nature of the elements, with no housekeeping or any preservation of the kind, there's no possibility of it retaining its splendor._ The passed out Madam Hemmingway was haphazardly placed on top of the mattress and left to the third floor of the manor as Marcus Ponquet locked the trapdoor behind him, sealing off the above floor from the rest of the staircase

Right before the departure of the four men (each volunteering for the sole purpose of impressing her), Grimella had taken it upon herself to hasten the likelihood of Claude's return, again reflecting back to how he would abstain should he discover his action to be in alignment with the Ponquet wishes. With each of her father's notes stating a direct desire for Claude to make his way back to Terminn (along with something obscure about the state of his mother), she replaced them with folded envelopes enclosing a folded piece of stiff parchment. In her most elegant calligraphy she had inscribed the rough details of a secret masquerade to be held in two weeks' time at the gothic location of the town Theatre Lounge. Sealing them all with an insignificant wax stamp, she swapped them to their new locations of the messenger bags, discarding the original letters by means of the fireplace. _All that remains is for time to do my bidding, luring Claude towards what he cannot resist, bringing him to me._


End file.
